


Lord Vader’s Daughter

by Thymesis



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [23]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Lost Stars - Claudia Gray, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics)
Genre: BAMF Leia Organa, Eriadu, Exchange Assignment, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, MayThe4thBeWithYou 2018, Mission Fic, POV Third Person, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Sexual Slavery, Undercover Missions, Worldbuilding, i know what this looks like but it is funny i promise!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: When Poe makes a foolish, impulsive decision, Leia must go undercover to rescue him from the consequences of that decision.





	Lord Vader’s Daughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kylohen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylohen/gifts).



> Love your username and icon. I hope you find further (SW-centric?) uses for this account in the future! :-)

“I hate him.”

“No, you don’t. Not really, anyway.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, Poe, you don’t. Remember what the Jedi Masters used to say? Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffer—”

Poe Dameron wasn’t listening. He was too busy glaring plasma-hot blaster bolts into the receding rear-end of their least favorite classmate. Okay, true— The classmate in question was a moronic moof milker who’d only ever been admitted to this most prestigious of the New Republic Naval Academies because his family was among the galaxy’s richest and most well-connected. He was xenophobic, nostalgic for the Empire, and probably planning to defect to the First Order or some other rabble-rousing, wannabe private militia at the earliest opportunity. But everyone was entitled to their own opinion, and he wasn’t worth the energy it took to actually _hate_.

Hosnian hollowdemons, at the rate he was going, he might not even graduate…not if he wanted to talk about posh soirees instead of their upcoming X-wing flight exam. He was one of the most consistently bottom-ranked scorers of their intake year.

Whereas Poe, on the other hand, was always ranked at the very tippy top. _He_ could probably ace finals in his sleep, and unfortunately, that meant he had plenty of time and energy for distraction.

Like now, for instance.

“I get it. He’s just bragging about the people he knows who’ll be there. But if even a quarter of what he said is true, it’s just _obscene_. I’m more than half a mind to go crash this ultra-exclusive so-called ‘Gathering’ of his myself! Eriadu is only three short hyperspace jumps. Whaddaya think, Suralinda? Scare some plutocrats, crime lords, and human supremacists for a few standard hours, then back in time for engineering practicum in the—”

“Forget it. Rich bastards and their debauchery—boooooring! What else is new in the galaxy? Some of us have to, you know, _study_ in order to pass.” Suralinda Javos sucked on the venom gland behind her right eyetooth. It was a bad habit; she only did it when she was annoyed. “Besides, you heard what he said: Academy cadets aren’t allowed. We’d just end up getting caught and dragged back to the First Order’s super-secret hideout and tortured within mere microns of our lives—”

“Hey, you think that really exists? The intelligence services have been looking for years, but…”

“I suppose. It must be real if the HoloNet says so.” Suralinda shrugged. Maybe someday she’d have the luxury to pursue conspiracy theories back to their sources, but not at this very moment. At this very moment, in fact, she ought to be busy reviewing the thirty-seven standard vectors for emergency space-to-ground landings.

“Huh.” Poe looked thoughtful. His fury at their classmate was already forgotten.

Uh-oh. She knew that look.

“Right. Well. I just realized I, uhh, forgot something. I guess I should go, uhh, study. I’ll, uhh, see you around.” And now it looked like Poe’s thoughts were in another planetary system entirely. Eriadu’s, most likely.

Poe took his leave at what was almost, but not quite, a sprint. In spite of his words, he did not appear to be heading in the direction of the library or the cadet residence hall. Instead, he appeared to be heading in the direction of the maglev line that would take him to the spaceport.

Obviously. Suralinda sighed and sucked fiercely on her left eyetooth.

Then she too headed a direction that wasn’t the library or the cadet residence hall. _She_ was heading in the direction of the nearest public pay-per-minute holoproj intersystem comm unit.

Nobody was using the booth when she arrived, so she had it all to herself.

Ten credits should do it.

Suralinda took a deep breath, pressed the record button, and began to speak into the blank, black eye of the holoemulator lens: “Hello, Ms. Shara Bey. This is Suralinda Javos, and I don’t know if you remember me, but we met three years ago at an Academy Open Day. I’m a good friend of your son, and there is something I believe you need to know. I fear he is about to do something very, very foolish…”

***

Eriadu looked better than she remembered.

When Princess Leia Organa was a young woman, the entire planet had been wrapped in a choking, putrid orange haze of industrial pollution that was visible from space. However, twenty years after Eriadu’s most famous native son, the Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, barked his last, despotic order, the blue and green jewel hanging from space might well have been a different world altogether. Amazing what deindustrialization and atmospheric scrubbers could do to heal a planetary ecosystem.

“We’ve arrived in Eriadu space, Your Highness,” C-3PO announced.

“Excellent,” she said. “Take us down, Threepio, and comm me when we’ve arrived at our final destination.”

C-3PO could fly the shuttle. She had other business to attend to in the meantime.

Everything she needed was already laid out for her. She studied the armorweave robes, the gloves, the wimple, the…mask. Even by her exacting standards, they were perfectly suited for the occasion. But clothes, no matter how perfect, were the easy part. It was her _performance_ that was going to have to sell this disguise.

If she was going to pull this off, she would need to remember a lot of things from her past—hard things, painful things—that, on any good, normal day, she would have preferred to forget. She would also need to remember everything her brother had taught her about the Force. A shame she hadn’t had more focus and patience for his well-intentioned lessons.

You be the Jedi. I’ll stick to politics, she’d said. We’re both already where we belong.

Oh, to be quite that brave and bold and _foolish_ again! Nowadays, she was old enough to know better, and sometimes…well, sometimes, you just never know.

***

It was said that the first Gathering of the galaxy’s power elite was organized by a Muun. Senators and lords of the Intergalactic Banking Clans would sit elbow to jowl with Jabba the Hutt. Wat Tambor of the Techno Union would trade complex tax evasion schemes with the Nemoidians of the Trade Federation. Executive officers of the Corporate Alliance would be feted more grandly than royalty.

Since the fall of the Old Republic, though, Gatherings had become decidedly humans-only affairs, and this year’s venue was a hunting lodge on a high altitude, windswept plateau situated some five-hundred kilometers from the planetary capital of Eriadu City. According to local Eriaduan lore, the lodge and the land it commanded—as far as the human eye could see in every direction—had once belonged to Tarkin’s ancestors; he’d bequeathed the property to the planetary government in an uncharacteristic fit of generosity shortly after Palpatine had elevated him to governorship of the Outer Rim.

The lodge and the land still technically belonged to all the people of Eriadu. Nevertheless, it had become an exclusive playground for the galaxy’s oligarchs. That said something about the state of Eriadu’s democracy. Or maybe it just said something about the dubious mental state of the Eriaduan citizenry.

Leia had once mocked Tarkin for the pomposity of his accent. The people here sounded more Core than Core when they spoke, and they had become among the most politically reactionary and humanocentric member systems of the New Republic. Over 99.9% of the non-human sentients had been driven off Eriadu, thanks to a combination of institutionalized discrimination and highly-publicized incidents of violent pogroms. The current Senator was a known First Order sympathizer as well.

In her weakest moments, Leia almost hated him. Almost.

The shuttle’s ramp extended, and Leia strode down onto terra firma, the wind whipping remorselessly at her new clothes. The sky overhead was a silvery gray dome, and, ah yes, indeed, the landscape was bleak and beautiful. Tall, tough grasses rippled like waves in water, and giant animals, over a half-dozen unidentifiable species, their skins either scaly and armored or thickly furred against the unforgiving cold, grazed all around her. The animals seemed uncaring, unconcerned by the comings and goings of shuttles and transports, but Leia was not deceived: They were clumped together in groups for protection.

An ebon-plated protocol droid stood at the entrance to the lodge, verifying scandoc invitations. Leia handed hers over wordlessly.

There was a short, sharp beep of verification. Definitive, unequivocal proof that anything could be had with sufficient credits to purchase it.

A tall, thin man, hair cut severely short and brazen in his crisp, First Order admiral’s uniform, turned from the discussion he’d been having with two slender women—identical twins?—in matching filmy white gowns to look in Leia’s direction…just in time to catch a glimpse of the data display on her scandoc. His eyes widened in shock for a moment before narrowing into wariness and suspicion.

“Welcome to the Gathering, Lady Vader,” the droid said and waved her through.

She did not deign to reply.

Leia could guess what that man was thinking easily enough. Difficult though it was for her to believe, there were people nostalgic for the Empire. Many were ex-Imperials, but not all. Some expressed their nostalgia through the accumulation of memorabilia such as code cylinders, stormtrooper helmets, propaganda holorecordings, or TIE fighter engine parts. That was creepy but mostly harmless. Much more sinister were those who joined paramilitary—read: terrorist—organizations and/or supported policies designed to undermine democratic rule of law. And then there were the ones who named their poor, innocent offspring after famous Imperials. Some even legally changed their own names. Unsurprisingly, “Sheev” was depressingly popular.

Vader was somewhat less so…

…but not completely unheard of.

And of course, there were the _rumors_. Rumors that the Sith Lord Darth Vader had fathered a child in secret, and that this child had been hidden away for his or her own protection. Rumors that this child still lived and possessed Vader’s mysterious powers. Some said this child would emerge imminently to bring durasteel-fisted order to the chaos the upstart Rebel Alliance had wrought. Few in their right minds credited such tall tales, but some people would believe absolutely anything.

That was because they _wanted_ to believe, wanted it with all their hearts.

People who wanted to believe were gullible, and Leia knew exactly what these people gathered at the hunting lodge were seeing: a feminine figure dressed all in long, loose black robes, hands sheathed in gloves, head and neck covered by a wimple, face concealed by a mask…a mask with mirrored, ruby lenses and a vocoder installed to disguise her natural voice. Unlike many of the guests who wore their blasters openly, she carried no visible weapon, yet she looked like she might be some dark warrior monk straight out of storybook legend.

But of course, the Lords of the Sith were no mere storybook legend to Princess Leia Organa. She’d made the personal acquaintance of two of them in her lifetime, and for as long as she lived she’d never forget their suffocating darkness, their fury, their lust for power. She’d never forget the menace of those booted steps, the heaviness of the hand on her shoulder when her homeworld was destroyed by Tarkin’s madness… She’d never forget the torture.

Yet she refused to let these horrific memories control her. _She_ controlled _them_ , and because of that, she could—and would—use them to her advantage here and now.

The Gathering was a busy, raucous affair with a jam-packed itinerary catering to every conceivable form of human indulgence. For the gluttonous, there were groaning tables of expensive gustatory delicacies and bottomless glasses of the finest intoxicating beverages. For the thrill-seeking, there were games of chance. For the bloodthirsty, there were chaperoned big game hunts out in the tall grasses. For the avaricious, well, everyone in attendance was filthy rich and therefore an opportunity for business, investment, or collaborative enterprise. And finally, for the lustful, there were private chambers and discreet…services available.

There was also the auction. This was her main objective, and it was scheduled to begin in the next quarter of the hour.

Leia headed through the lodge in what she hoped was a likely direction. The trick was to move quickly, to look straight ahead, and to otherwise pretend she knew exactly where she was going. She did the best she could to radiate menace and sinister mystery and was gratified to see how—in spite of her small stature—the throngs of pampered plutocrats, some of whom she recognized either from firsthand acquaintance or from the HoloNet, parted like water all around the swirling hem of her robes.

Her instincts had been correct; her intended destination was right in front of her.

She was disappointed but not especially shocked to see how many “items for bid” there were on display. Slavery—never mind _sexual_ slavery—was outlawed throughout the New Republic, and even the Gathering’s attendees, however wealthy and powerful, were not above the rule of law. Unfortunately, as with any law, there were loopholes, and wealth and power—not to mention the talented lawyers wealth and power afforded—always found ways to exploit them. Prostitution was legal in many systems subject to local regulations, for example, as were some forms of indentured servitude. This was a combination of both: a large, upfront payment of untraceable credits to a designate individual or trust account for fifteen years of…service, Leia resisted a disgusted shudder, in the bedchamber.

The thirty-eight “items for bid” were all young, all beautiful. Most were probably desperate. They’d lose the best years of their adult lives to their notional owners, even in ideal circumstances, and permanent injury, or Gods forbid death, were not outside the realm of possibility. Although harming one’s servant was a punishable crime against a sentient being like any other, in practice most offenses were never reported, and if they did not rise to a level requiring immediate emergency medical treatment, well, ignorance was bliss for the prosecuting authorities, as they say.

As Leia had anticipated, Poe Dameron was among the soon-to-be-auctioned slaves. Feigning the vague interest of a casual browser, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Like the others, he’d been stripped of his clothing, making him available for close inspection.

Or outright manhandling, rather. A woman was crouched down at groin level, one long, varnished fingernail prodding and lifting his genitalia—examining him for visible signs of infection and disease, presumably—and teasing him into an erection. Poe whined softly, and the woman nodded, satisfied that he was capable of the requisite sexual activity. After she had moved on to the next prospective male slave some meters distant, a smirking man sauntered over to Poe and, without ceremony, forced him to bend over. Then he pried Poe’s buttocks cruelly apart and probed deeply into his rectum, which made Poe wince, which in turn made the man’s smirk wider.

Leia felt a sudden, blue-white flash of hot anger at that. She knew what it was like to be in chains, an object for someone else’s base enjoyment. A simpering auction staffer, who’d been about to hand her a bidder’s datacard, stumbled backward nervously, like he’d felt her displeasure somehow.

“I believe you have something for me?” she said to him, her vocoder-altered voice flat, electronic, and colder than the ice-caves of Hoth. She held out a gloved hand expectantly.

The auctioneer gulped and nodded, placing the bidder’s datacard in her upraised palm and then snatching his own hand away as fast as possible. Like Leia’s touch had burned him. Leia ignored his fear and his hasty departure and switched the ’card on. It was already programmed to accept bids as soon as the auction commenced, and it did not ask for her personal information or an advance deposit guarantee—anybody able to be here was assumed to be able to pay.

And besides, while some people undoubtedly lived to show off their ostentatious spending habits, many more preferred discretion as the better part of valor…

…which was why this was a silent auction.

The auction format was as follows: Bidding would proceed for four standard hours in total, but each item would only be open for bidding for twenty minutes apiece. The ’card would be used to place bids; the highest bids were updated in real time on the ’card’s visual display. Bidding windows were staggered, and Leia noted the schedule with dismay—the bidding round for Poe was going to close out the auction. This increased the chances that there would be a last-minute bidding frenzy for him by those who had lost out in previous contests.

So winning Poe might be difficult, and Leia was here to win. Ah well. She’d been to auctions before; the trick was to stay calm and think strategically. Nothing to do now but wait and try not to pace and worry about the promise she’d made to Poe’s mother to bring him back safely.

Leia was a mother too, after all, and mothers of unruly sons needed to stick together.

The auction opened forthwith. Bidding progressed slowly, arduously. Leia stood off to the side, her back to a corner, aloof. This gave her a good vantage point; she did not want her intentions to be too readily divined. The mask concealed the direction of her gaze from those around her, so she kept it fixed on Poe.

Poe, for his part, was doing his level best to seem enticing now that he wasn’t being actively inspected by potential buyers, preening and flexing and widening his eyes suggestively. He seemed particularly eager to attract the interest of men and women in First Order officers’ uniforms. His performance was more silly than seductive, however, and therefore none of them seemed particularly interested in _him_. In other, more salubrious circumstances, Leia reflected, it would almost have been a shame. There was something decidedly charming about his obvious inexperience and lack of true guile. And he’d inherited both of his parents’ handsome looks. Perhaps—

Ah, there. Bidding for Poe had opened. Finally.

Okay, time to focus.

Leia did not place a bid immediately. As expected, there were several early impulse bids from those who had been previously disappointed, and the minimum reserve—1 million—was met and exceeded within the first minute. After that, the price for Poe doubled, and doubled again. It doubled a third time at the seven-minute mark. Then, the bidding stalled.

Okay, _now_ was the time for Leia to make her first move. She entered a bid on her ’card: 11 million credits.

As she pushed the “submit” button, she watched the crowd carefully, noting their reactions. Three individuals stood out: The long-nailed woman and the smirking man from earlier, plus an aging, obese man dressed head to toe in garish brocaded shimmersilk. He looked like some sort eccentric celebrity past his prime, and he was frowning.

A counterbid of 11.5 million.

Leia waited. The long-nailed woman was tapping her fingernails against her ’card, clearly unhappy. A dramatic pause. Then she spun about on one heel, tossing the ’card at the auctioneer, who fumbled the catch, and departed the auction area.

One down. Two to go.

Leia waited. Five more minutes on the chrono ticked by. Only three minutes before the bidding on Poe closed. She entered a bid of 12 million.

It was countered immediately: 12.25 million.

The smirking man, whose smirk was so wide that it appeared downright predatory. This was a cruel, cruel individual. No slave would be safe in his hands.

Poe wasn’t falling into them today. Leia countered with 12.5 million, and the smirking man upped his bid to 12.6 million. They countered each other three further times, each in increments of 0.1 million credits.

At the 13 million mark, the obese man looked ill, and the smirking man’s smirk had started to fade. Thank the Gods—Leia was winning the bidding war.

Less than two minutes to go. The obese man threw his heavy body into the plush cushions of a nearby divan and closed his eyes—he was out. At 13.3 million credits, the smirking man turned to look directly at Leia. She tensed—how had he figured her out? Was she in danger?! But he simply slipped his ’card into his jacket’s breast pocket and favored her with a slight bow. A fine battle, he seemed to be saying, with my congratulations to the victor.

Three down, and Leia was still standing. Okay, she was going to win the auction.

Or not.

A kerfuffle of sorts was kicking off. The identical twins in matching white dresses, along with the tall First Order officer she’d seen with them earlier, were conferring urgently among themselves. The twins appeared to be pleading with the officer.

They wanted Poe, and even _Poe_ knew it. He tried swiveling his hips and batting his lashes in their direction. It was ludicrous, but they giggled coquettishly anyway.

And the tall First Order officer seemed ready to acquiesce.

Less than thirty seconds to go. The new highest bid on Poe was for 13.5 million credits. It had to have come from the First Order officer. There were hushed murmurs from a small gathering of onlookers—that was high, even for an attractive sex slave in his prime. No one sane would put in another bid.

Fifteen seconds to go…ten seconds…five…

Leia knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath and offered a silent apology in her head to the dearly departed Queen Breha Organa, who had once managed Alderaan’s sovereign wealth fund, expecting—and training—Leia to do the same for her people one day.

If Breha weren’t already long dead and gone, this would _kill_ her.

Final bid at the close: 15.1 million credits.

The two young women cried out in dismay.

***

Poe was already waiting for her in the lavishly-appointed private chamber when Leia arrived. He was as naked as he had been on the auction block less than an hour earlier, but between then and now he’d acquired an electronic collar with four blinking yellow and green status lights.

Leia crossed her arms, clenched her jaw, and gritted her teeth against the anger rising at the back of her throat. A slave collar, in this day and age, at a place like this—!!

No. Wait. It wasn’t a slave collar. _It was a vital signs monitor_.

Oh. _Oh_. That was almost worse.

Like any other purchase, the modern sex slave came with a seventy-two standard hour cooling-off period after the transaction was completed, and it was expected that, during this period, buyers would…try out…their new purchase. Placing a vital signs monitor on the slave provided a measure of privacy in a place where other surveillance devices would be beyond the pale—while issuing a none too subtle reminder to buyers that _they_ would be held liable should the slave’s health go suddenly amiss. But on the other hand, it also meant that someone _was_ paying attention, and if Poe’s vital signs were outside the…ahem, _usual_ …perimeters, suspicions might be raised. And Leia had just dropped 15.1 million credits on Poe she was never getting back; suspicion was the last thing Leia could now afford.

“So, uhh, Lady Vader… They said to call you ‘Lady Vader’…” Poe broke the silence suddenly. He was shifting from foot to foot, and with high-energy nervousness, he began to babble. “Is that a real name or an alias? Maybe an alias? I don’t recognize your uniform. Do you have an insignia? Are you with the First Order? There are rumors that, well.” A pause before he continued on a different maglev track, rate of speech even faster than before. “So, uhh, are you gonna take that mask off and stay awhile? You have a nice figure. I bet you’re really pretty underneath those robes. Actually, uhh. How would you like to do this? Are you supposed to make the first move? Or am I?”

Poe’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, and his expression firmed with newfound resolve. He seemed to have talked himself into some manner of inexplicable decision, and now he looked…intrigued. Eager, almost.

“Okay, I see how this is going to go. I’ll make the first move, Lady Vader.”

He favored Leia with a cavalier smirk, dropped to his knees at Leia’s feet so that his face was level to her waist, and lifted her robes. When he saw what was there, though, he rocked back onto his heels slightly, puzzled.

“How do you—? I’ve never seen anything like these before,” Poe muttered as he tugged futilely at the complicated girdle and wraps Leia was wearing. “I thought women didn’t bother with underwear in—”

Leia grabbed the hand that was pawing at her by the wrist and yanked Poe back upright and onto his feet. He was hardly taller than she was, she realized, small, compact but muscular, like all of the best starfighter pilots. His eyes were wide and dark as he stared at his own reflection in the ruby lenses of her mask. The lights on the vital signs monitor around Poe’s neck twinkled like they were taunting her.

They still had to get away from the hunting lodge and off-planet without getting killed, killing each other, or raising suspicions leading to a diplomatic incident that Leia would be loath to explain. So, she came to a quick decision of her own.

One of Leia’s hands was already wrapped tightly around Poe’s wrist. She dropped her other hand between them and wrapped it around Poe’s cock, stroking him quickly to hardness.

Fortunately, she had plenty of experience to guide her.

He didn’t resist her advances. Of course he didn’t—resisting would be beyond stupid. But she hadn’t expected him to be quite so responsive, or quite so unabashedly enthusiastic, either. Poe sighed happily and welcomed her touch, canting his hips for the best angle and pushing himself into her. His expression slackened, becoming vulnerable, yearning, as a tiny bead of fluid welled up at the tip of his cock. Leia stroked downwards, and the bead began to slide down the underside of the crown, and Leia stroked upwards, rolling the loose skin of the foreskin up and pinching it closed with her thumb and forefinger. Then she stroked down again, spreading the moisture and making the sensation sweeter, more intense for Poe.

“So, uhh, mmm, aaahhh, that’s really nice, Lady Vader…do you want me to—”

“Stop talking,” Leia said flatly and squeezed his cock, tight enough to hurt.

Poe flinched but didn’t take the hint. “No, really, I can, uhh, I’m supposed to…do you want me to—”

“I believe I instructed you to stop talking.”

“I-I, hey…ooohhh! I just—”

“Stop talking.”

“B-but—”

“Stop. Talking.”

 _Finally_ , Poe obeyed and surrendered. He began to flush, to pant, to sweat; his heart was undoubtedly racing. The lights on the vital signs monitor were blinking crazily.

Good. Very good. Not much longer. Leia smiled behind her mask as her stroking accelerated. She’d always been a fast learner, and now she knew exactly where he was most sensitive, what to do to make him writhe, keen, to drive him wild. Ah, he was an attractive young man indeed when he was so intensely aroused like this…

Poe twisted violently, tensing, his free hand wrapped around Leia’s waist, fingers digging into the small of her back. He was beginning to lose control. Poe moaned, pushing his whole body into hers, suddenly wanting to be closer, closer, _closer_. He buried his face between Leia’s neck and shoulder, kissing, mouthing, attempting to bite outright through the fabric of her robes, down into the tender flesh beneath. Yes, surely he was very close. Leia kept on stroking, determined, and Poe emitted a low-throttled moan.

“Lady…Vader…wait, please, I-I don’t…I can’t…I-I’m…ooohhh—!”

And then, none too soon, he was coming, his legs wobbling as he stumbled, dead weight against Leia, and she was stunned by the explosion of sympathetic heat in her own belly, a shared orgasm that should not have been possible, and she hissed, closing her eyes as she cried out in unison with Poe, her mind blanking, and Poe was still coming, semen pouring over the black leather of her glove; he was wailing, hips jerking, hand flailing against her…

…and knocking her mask free from her face.

***

“So, uhh, should I call you Your Highness? Oh, _are_ you still a princess? Can you be a princess if your homeworld— Well. I mean. Maybe should I call you Senator Organa instead…? Hey, which system are you a Senator of, anyway? Not Alderaan, can’t be Alderaan. Oh, I’m sorry—is that a sensitive subject? Because I totally understand, but I don’t think anyone’s ever told me which—”

Leia had pointedly refused to discuss their strange shared orgasm from earlier, but neither of them had forgotten it, and Poe’s chatter had no refractory period, evidently.

“Calling me ‘Leia’ will do fine in the future, but for now I’d rather you speak as little as possible,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose, exasperation threatening to creep into her now-unmodified voice. “This is a rescue, if you haven’t noticed.”

“A rescue? Why— I don’t need— But how…?” Realization dawned. “ _Damn_ you to the ninety-nine fiery hells of Mustafar, Suralinda—”

“ _Do not_ blame your friend,” Leia snapped, temper flaring. “You did a foolhardy thing, and she was wise not to keep your secret. You’re fortunate to have people to care about you, Poe.”

“Hey now!” Now Poe’s temper was beginning to flare too in response. “I had a good thing going here. That fascist bastard was gonna buy me for his two girls, and then they’d take me back to wherever it is they came from, and I’d be able to report on the location of the First Order’s secret stronghold—”

“Oh? Oh?! Oh?!?!” Leia interrupted fiercely. She was _not_ going to lose this argument. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. And _how_ , exactly, do you think you’re going to report back to us while you’re on your back with your legs in the air, huh, flyboy?! You think sex slaves have free rein?? That they aren’t monitored _constantly_?!”

“I—”

“You haven’t even graduated from Academy yet! Leave the infiltration to the professionals!”

And so it went for nearly three hours; it was fortunate that the walls were soundproofed because, while Poe’s vital signs may have been registering at above-normal perimeters, nobody in the galaxy could have mistaken their shouting for enthusiastic erotic roleplay. Neither was willing to cede any territory, but eventually Poe seemed to accept the idea that he had no other choice but to abort this ill-advised personal mission and leave Eriadu with Leia.

She decided that counted as a victory. And truth be told, she kind of admired Poe for standing his ground with her. Not many did.

Now, all they had to do was leave without raising any suspicions. Easy, right?

“Don’t forget to let _me_ do any talking,” Leia said as she secured the mask back onto her face. “Got that, Poe?”

***

After what Leia hoped was a suitable interval, she and Poe exited the private chamber. The Gathering was still going strong all around them, of course, but it was well past nightfall, and those who had not yet retired to private chambers of their own for more… _intimate_ …festivities were focused mostly on feasting, dancing, and other assorted varieties of drunken carousing.

They ought not to be interested in one masked woman and her new high-priced sex slave. In theory.

“I beg your pardon, milady.”

Godsdammit! She and Poe were less than twenty steps from the hunting lodge’s front entrance.

Leia stopped and turned, so abruptly that Poe practically skidded into her. He recovered just in time, however, and assumed a suitably submissive looking position behind and slightly to the right of her back.

It was the tall First Order officer that she’d last seen at the auction.

Leia was silent. Silence from a person whose expression you could not see could be highly intimidating, she knew.

They waited.

After a long, uncomfortable pause, the officer cleared his throat nervously and continued. “My apologies for the interruption. Nash Windrider, First Order Admiral…” Nash’s speech tapered off; he was again waiting for Leia—or rather Lady Vader—to speak.

Again, Leia remained silent.

“Right. Well, I wished to inquire as to the status of your slave. Might you be willing to part with him?”

The time, Leia spoke. “He isn’t for sale,” she said, her voice cold and flat through the mask. She could hear Poe shuffling his bare feet nervously behind her.

“Not even for the sum of, say, 17 million credits?”

“No.”

“How about 20 million credits then? Please, milady, you must understand,” Nash hastened to add before Leia could reiterate her refusal in stronger terms, “my daughters are completely infatuated, and your final bid took us by surprise. They’re good girls, the best, really, but I’ll never hear the end of it…well. Ciena will sulk, but _Leia_ —”

Poe emitted a surprised bleat at the name. Gods _damn_ the young fool for his lack of sabacc table poise. How could he have believed himself capable of working effectively undercover?!

Nash squinted at Poe, that suspicious look he’d worn when he’d glimpsed Leia’s scandoc suddenly returning. “Yes, I know— Not the most popular name in these parts, but my wife insisted. And truth be told,” Nash said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I used to have a crush on the Princess too. I even met her once, long ago, on Coruscant, and I’ll never forget how…how…” Nash was looking over Leia’s shoulder at Poe again.

Fuck.

“Yes? I don’t have all night for idle chatter,” Leia prompted, impatient.

“How Princess Leia stood and moved and _looked_ quite a lot like you, milady,” Nash growled. He was still watching Poe’s face, and whatever he saw there only seemed to confirm his worst suppositions. He stepped forward, using his height advantage to loom over Leia, to threaten. “You. You! You are a terrorist and a traitor to our people!! The blood of every Alderaanian man, woman, and child is on _your_ hands!” Nash was shouting, spitting with rage. “How dare you! How _dare_ you come here! They’d still be alive—Alderaan would still be our home—if it weren’t for—”

Leia had had enough. It had been too much today: all this reliving, no, inhabiting, of her memories of the Empire and its hostile surveillance, of Tarkin and the Death Star, of Jabba and his chains, of Palpatine and the long shadow of his legacy, of the dark truth of her lineage, of…Vader. How dare _she_? She’d lived with the deaths of her people on her conscience for every day for over half of her lifetime. No, how dare _he_ , how dare he accuse _her_?! The hot rage inside that had been simmering nonstop since arriving on Eriadu surged and boiled over; she wanted this Admiral Nash Windrider to stop talking, and if she just put out her hand, she could _make him shut up_ —

Nash wheezed. His expression of fury turned to horror, and he reached up to his throat, scratching, clutching. He couldn’t breathe. Soon, he would suffocate and die.

Powerful, thrilling energies that she’d only ever felt during halfhearted training with Luke swelled in Leia’s chest. She could feel it swirl all around her, dark and joyous, endless promise. Yes, good riddance to First Order trash…

“Lady Vader? Umm, Your Highness? Princess Leia? Leia?! What are you doing?” It was Poe. Poe Dameron.

Wait, what _had_ she been doing?

Nash’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground.

Unconscious, not dead.

 _Thank the Gods_.

“Whoa. That was, uhh— For a second there, you really could have been Darth Vader’s daughter.”

“Please see to Admiral Windrider, if you would,” Leia said to a passing server droid, pretending she hadn’t heard Poe, pretending she hadn’t just been _this_ close to succumbing to…to…becoming what Poe had just said. “He seems to have had too much to drink.”

***

They made it back to the shuttle awaiting them outside the hunting lodge without further incident. C-3PO was standing at the top of the boarding ramp, ready to receive them.

“Poe Dameron!” he exclaimed, his motivator whirling audibly as he turned to face Poe. “I haven’t seen you since you were a small boy on Yavin 4— Why, goodness gracious me! Where are your clothes?”

“No time to explain, Threepio,” Leia said. “Poe, take the pilot’s seat and get us out of here!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Poe said as he sat down.

“I thought I told you to call me Leia.”

“Yes, Leia,” Poe said, the corners of his mouth curling upwards as he punched the ignition button.

Okay, maybe she did like Poe’s cocky grin. A little bit. Who wouldn’t? And his handsome body. And his exquisite responsiveness to her touch. And maybe he had come in useful there at the end, calling her back from the brink. Maybe he’d come in useful again in the future too—after he graduated, that is. She’d just have to learn to tolerate that nonstop stream of chatter, which had resumed now that they were breaking atmosphere and about to make their first hyperspace jump.

Still.

Leia decided she’d wait until they were in the safety of hyperspace to break it to Poe that she hadn’t brought him any spare clothing. Or anything with which to remove the vital signs monitor.

She also rather hoped that Suralinda Javos would be there at the spaceport to see the naked, “collared” Poe disembark.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the exchange on April 2, 2018.


End file.
